Make it Better
by Sunasylean
Summary: When Hermione is killed after the Final Battle, someone has to fix it. But who, and how? A new take on a time travel fic. AU premise.


Alright, so like many of us here, I enjoy time travel stories. They're a great way to change canon while sort of sticking to canon, inasmuch as the character that causes change is from the canonverse. But other than a few notable exceptions, they always feature Harry as the time-traveler. Of course, he's the main character we all love. But as this is fanfiction, I think it'd be fun to see maybe what changes would happen to Harry's life if one of his friends, for example, were to go back in time instead. The idea here is not to make this other character the hero of Harry's story, but rather to have them impact it in a more indirect fashion, and aid in Harry's journey and development.

I don't want this to be a retelling of Harry Potter, event for event with minor changes. Hopefully there will be meaningful divergences from canon. But as we all know, foreknowledge is only valuable inasmuch as the events stay the same, and our unwilling time traveler will realize that quickly. Changes will, of course be inevitable, but he will attempt to contain them.

Oh, and of course this story focuses on Ron. I know he receives what I would consider mind-boggling amount of hatred for reasons I don't generally see justified. Whatever guys, if that's your jam go for it, but the Ron in this story will not be a caricatured creature of jealousy and rage, but an attempt to recreate the dynamic, developed, and multi-dimensional character of Ron from JKR's masterpiece.

Finally, (sorry) it should go without saying that this story does not accept that trashy chapter that passes for an epilogue as reality. Both because it screws with how I want to write this story, and it was bad. Anyway. I'm sure you're bored of this monologue by now. I appreciate constructive criticism, corrections, and suggestions. Without further self-indulgent BS from the writer, this is 'Make it better.'

Disclaimer: All characters, settings and terms belong to JKRowling. Long may she captivate our and many others' minds.

Prologue: Maybe we'll be alright

Harry, Hermione and Ron left the Headmaster's office slowly, exhaustion apparent in their steps and bearing. Harry led the way down the spiraling steps, Ron and Hermione holding hands behind him. He knew he should be happy, what with Voldemort finally gone for good. It was almost as though he was doing the event a disservice by only feeling grief at the greatest triumph of the light in many years. But, he realized, as many survivors of conflict do, war leaves no real winners. Only those who go on, and those who do not. Sirius, Fred, Lupin, Tonks and so many more. Colin Creevy's irritating camera would never blind him unexpectedly again- Harry had never thought he would miss it. He thought with sorrow of his baby godson, whom he would be responsible for in a large way. Teddy deserved his parents. Harry wouldn't wish his own childhood on anyone. He hoped he would do a better job than the Dursleys.

At the bottom of the steps, he stumbled slightly, and was caught by two steadying hands from behind. He smiled tiredly at Ron, who had been expecting something like this, and had kept an eye on him. Ron grinned back briefly, but it looked strained and faded quickly. He stared at the long wand in Harry's hand.

"Are you really throwing that away?" he asked seriously- not with judgment, but with a desire to understand.

Harry nodded firmly.

"It's the nature of this wand, Ron, to pass through wizarding history with a trail of blood. It is powerful, but it's a power that inevitably leads to sorrow," Harry explained, hoping Ron would understand.

Ron opened his mouth, brows furrowed, but Hermione spoke first.

"He's right, Ron. I wish I could say he wasn't, but even the part of me that wants that wand can read the books. Dark wizard after wizard had these powerful wands- which we know to be the Elder wand- and they all met sticky ends. It has to end somewhere." Hermione's familiar lecturing tone brought small smiles to both the boys' faces. Ron nodded slowly.

"So we can't use it, even if we try to use it for good, then?"

Harry shook his head. "Look at Dumbledore, Ron. Even he wasn't able to escape it, though he tried."

Ron nodded once more, quickly this time, in understanding. He looked at both of his friends, the two people he loved most.

"Then let's get it back to where it belongs."

Harry sighed. He looked to the right, towards the corridor that would take him eventually to Gryffindor tower. He wanted so badly to rest, and he dared say he deserved it by now. But he hadn't come this far to leave the thing half-done. Or three-quarters done. Whatever. He would do this last task, and then sleep for a week. He turned laboriously to the left, and began the long walk to Hogwarts' great doors. Ron and Hermione were by his sides now, supporting him with their presence.

The halls were lined with rubble and spell damage of various kinds. A portrait on their right containing three young women was burning slowly at the edges still, and the girls inside could not escape through the edges. Before the three could do anything, a squat knight leapt from the frame beside them through the flames, and attempted to scoop up the girls in his arms. Failing to even lift one, he drew his oversized sword instead and swung at the advancing flames, screaming "Fear not! Sir Cadogan shall save you!" Of course, this was completely ineffectual, rendering him trapped as well. Hermione quickly put out the flames as the three walked past, shaking her head. Cadogen didn't notice her disdain, however, as he was busy receiving the affections of three very thankful girls.

Ron snorted. "Remember when that barmy codger let Sirius into the tower? I mean alright, so Sirius wasn't actually a mass murderer, but that idiot didn't know that, did he?"

Despite the pain of hearing Sirius' name, remembering the antics of the foolhardy knight served to lighten the trio's mood somewhat, but walking through the deserted halls was saddening in a way that could not be ignored. Every cracked stone and shattered pane served to remind that Hogwarts, and in a larger way, the wizarding world, had barely scraped by this conflict. All three were quiet, but unknowingly were on similar trains of thought. Past mistakes, things they could have done better, maybe saved a life here, prevented further grief there. They recognized that these thoughts were useless, and just sort of depressing, but none of them could help it. Ron shook his head and sighed. He never regretted anything more than leaving Harry and Hermione when they needed him most. It had been a moment of frustrated resentment, spurred on by the Horcrux. He knew they had forgiven him, but he hadn't forgiven himself. He didn't know that he ever would. What if by him being around, this war could have ended sooner? Could Fred still be alive? The irrational thought caused him to flinch visibly with guilt. Harry was too tired and focused on staying upright to notice, but Hermione glanced over worriedly.

Finally, they stepped down the stairs into the entrance hall. There was still some quiet conversation emanating from the blasted entrance to the great hall, but the area around them was as empty as the rest of the castle. A young man's weeping carried through the broken doors, and seemed to emphasize the nature of their victory- wholly pyrrhic. Harry knew from the last time he had seen Georges face that he would never joke the same way again. The twins' duo-toned laughter, almost identical but distinctly from two sources, would never grace the air again. Head bowed, he turned from the reality of their win, and trudged out onto the Hogwarts grounds, followed by his two friends. None of them noticed the tall figure that slipped out from behind the staircase, and began following them from a distance- but someone else did.

One of the doors was lying outside the frame, on the ground surrounded by rubble and bits of broken Hogwarts' knights. A giant's club lay near them, along with what was obviously drying blood. The trio walked past quickly. The corpses from the battle had been cleared away, to be taken in reverence or disposed of, depending on the individual, but there had not yet been time to clean the rest of the remains of the fight. The result was an eerie setting of weapons and destruction, but no sign of what could have caused it. The scene was almost surreal, in a terrible way. It was as if those who had fought were already gone and forgotten, and the only thing with meaning still was the evidence that a battle _was_ fought here, some time, by some faceless groups for a long-past cause.

The sky, however, was clear and sunny, belying the sadness that seemed to permeate the very air. The crisp wind blew a slight chill through them, inviting a shiver. The three trudged on in silence. Words were useless, right now. They would cry later, then grieve, reminisce, and maybe eventually move on, and be glad. But for now it was only a sort of numb relief, and shock. It was finally over.

Their destination was visible in the distance, a bright white spot on their vision. It reflected the sunlight brilliantly, as was no doubt intended. Albus upheld his namesake in death as he did in life. Harry wondered how old the great man had been. He seemed to remember a birth date in Skeeter's malicious biography, sometime in the early eighteen eighties. He must have been pushing one-twenty, Harry thought to himself. How much longer might he have lived, had it not been cut short? A twinge of rage at Snape surfaced out of habit, but it was stale, and Harry brushed it off. Snape, while not someone he would remember fondly, would always be someone deserving of his respect. Indeed, it was a strange day for Harry when he regretted the death of Severus Snape. So many lives wasted needlessly- well, he amended internally, not needlessly. The fight against Tom had to be fought, and won, and was surely worth it regardless of cost. To say their deaths were needless was to undermine their sacrifice. But if only.. he sighed heavily. He had been doing that a lot lately.

Bringing himself back to his senses, he looked to his right, past Hermione's equally vacant gaze, and stared out across the lake. Out that way, there was no wounded castle, no debris, no one hurt and worried and sad. Just sunlight glancing off the gently rippled surface of the deep blue lake, and vibrant green trees with leaves and needles waving serenely. Harry wondered if it would be in bad taste to just leave the wizarding world and become a hermit. He chuckled softly at the image of himself wearing leaves and furs, with a long scraggly beard. _That's probably unfair to hermits everywhere,_ he thought as they reached the blindingly white tomb. The front was blasted open, and he winced slightly to see his Headmaster's old face exposed to the elements. However, it seems that the preservation charms had not been broken when the stone was, and he looked as serene as the day he had died. It was sad to see, but it was a sadness he had come to terms with. There was simply no more room in him for more sadness right then. This one was a pebble upon a mountain of sorrows that he bore.

He looked at his friends of reassurance. Surprisingly, it was Ron who nodded encouragingly, whereas Hermione looked apprehensive. But that might have been the fact that they were forced to further desecrate Albus' tomb. Harry wasn't exactly comfortable, but it had to be done, then they could seal it up for good. Breathing deeply, thankful that the decay was held off by magic, Harry stepped forward to the marble coffin. He looked down at Dumbledore's visage, wise even now. He imagined that at any moment a twinkling eye would peek open and seem to pierce his soul. But, of course it didn't.

"Um…" Harry stammered. Despite having just seen Dumbledore's painting a few minutes ago, it was worse to see the corpse itself. He felt like he should say something here, but had no idea what was appropriate. He ended up just placing the wand gently in the crook of the dead man's arm, and stepping back quickly to his friends. He stared at his feet. A beetle crawled on and off his shoe, uninterested. He heard the wind skim across the castle and cause the lake to lap playfully against the shore. The sound of approaching footsteps was swallowed up by his distraction.

"Thanks, sir. For everything. I… I'm sorry I couldn't.. And the others."

"Harry, you couldn't have possibly-" Hermione tried to put in, but Ron silenced her with a gentle hand on her arm. She looked at him, her face pained and worried. Ron just shook his head. Harry would have to accept that he wasn't personally responsible for their deaths later. Now wasn't the time to force the issue. Harry didn't even seem to acknowledge her words.

After a time, he looked up again, dry-eyed and released the breath he had been holding. He knew the tears would come later, maybe in Ginny's arms when everything finally calmed down. Harry dreaded the coming days of press and attention as no doubt the entire wizarding world vied for his time. He supposed an interview to the quibbler would be par for the course, if only for Luna's sake. Xenophilius he could do without, but he couldn't blame the man for trying to save his daughter, try as he might. Maybe he would tell them all to screw off, and steal away with Ginny for a week. Or a month. He needed time before he felt like facing the world that had caused him such grief. On reflection, he hadn't had peace in either the muggle or wizard world. Just better times, and worse. Maybe he was just not meant for times of calm. He wondered if anyone else felt this way. Probably not, since as far as he knew no one else had had the Dark-Lord-with-a-personal-vendetta experience. Their gain, he thought, uncharacteristically bitter.

Hermione waved her wand as he ran through his thoughts, and the marble tomb closed up as though it had never been subjected to Tom's brutish treatment. The completed piece was a striking monument to a great man and all he stood for- it was a beacon in the sea of Hogwarts' grounds. It would stand long as a reminder of the sacrifice this victory had cost. The three of them stood quietly, by unspoken agreement, taking a moment of silence. For what, they couldn't exactly say. For the man they had just entombed. For the dead in the castle above. For the wizarding world. For themselves. If they didn't deserve at least a moment of silence, then no one did.

Harry chuckled suddenly. He had remembered his first conversation with Dumbledore, face to face, in front of the Mirror of Erised. After spending as much time away from somewhere warm and safe, Harry could honestly say that a new pair of socks sounded about the best thing in the world just then. The chuckle turned into a brief, real laugh, without hysteria or bitterness. His friends looked at him with amazement, smiles of their own tugging at the corners of their mouths. Maybe everything would be alright.

" _Avada Kedavra" "Stupefy!"_

It was almost surreal, hearing those words said. Like a punchline to a bad joke that had been started ages ago, and you didn't even remember the premise anymore- yet somehow you had to laugh. Harry's highly tuned reflexes, due to a combination of exhaustion, grief, and relative relaxation, were not enough for him to dodge- however, the spell wasn't aimed for him. He whipped around too late, his own wand leaving his pocket with practiced speed. He noticed distantly that it felt good to have his own holly and phoenix wand back in his hand after so long. Coming back to himself, he searched for a target. There was already someone lying on the ground in the direction the spells had come, and a slight figure with long red hair flowing behind them like molten gold, running towards him. However, there was one more person lying on the grass.

Hermione laid on her back, having been turned over by a suddenly sobbing Ron. Her eyes looked vaguely surprised, and her mouth was open in a small 'o.' It was almost like second year, when she had been petrified. But this time her head ragdolled lifelessly on her neck, and her arms splayed out uncomfortably. Harry stared at her body, unable to quite understand what he was looking at. Instead, he strode over to the attacker's body, where Ginny already was.

"Harry! Harry I'm so sorry, I saw him following you guys out of the castle, and I knew you wanted to be left alone, so I followed him, but didn't catch up and- I didn't think he would k- I tried to stun him but-"

Harry ignored her and bent down, turning the unconscious person over roughly. It was Marcus Flint. Harry had no words to describe how he felt. His former classmate was wearing a Hogwarts robe, but on closer inspection he was wearing gear reminiscent of various snatchers Harry had seen underneath the familiar robes. He had no interest in Flint's motivation. The boy had always been sadistic in school and on the pitch, but why this? Why now, when he had so obviously lost, add a bit more grief into the world? Harry stood, deaf to Ginny's horrified babbling, and walked back to his best mate, who hadn't moved.

"HARRY!" Ron was sobbing uncontrollably. "HEAL HER!"

Harry didn't say a word. He just looked at his unmoving friend, and the way her eyes wouldn't stop staring. Ginny had come over as well. She tugged at Ron's sleeve half-heartedly, already crying herself.

"Ron… Ron, Harry can't heal her. Ron, she's gone-"

"SHE'S. NOT. GONE," screamed Ron defiantly, his voice cracking. He put Hermione down gently, then took his wand. Ginny moved as though to block him from going after Flint's unconscious body, but Ron showed no interest in the fallen attacker. Instead, he turned back to Dumbloedore's tomb, and without hesitation blasted the top off once more. He was not gentle, and what looked unpleasantly like pieces of the occupant's head flew away from the opening. Ginny blanched, but Ron didn't hesitate. He reached in and tore the Elder wand back out of Albus' unresisting arm, and shoved it into Harry's numb hand, almost causing him to drop it. Ron took Harry's hand and forced it to close around the wand. This time Harry held on, tearing his blank eyes from Hermione's.

"Harry. Bring her back. It's the Elder wand, right? It can do it. It will do it. Come on, Harry. Do it. Hurry! You're its master, make it work!" Ron's words were haltingly choked out between sobs, but there was a commanding tone in them nonetheless.

Ginny shook her head, hands over her mouth in horror, and Harry just continued to stare at Ron. Harry's thoughts moved at a snail's pace. But what Ron said made sense. Hermione, now, bad. Hermione better, good. Make Hermione better. He looked back to Hermione, and then to Ron again, who had dropped down beside her once more and cradled her head in his lap. Ginny grabbed Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, no, you can't! Remember Beedle? Remember the three brothers? Even if you could do it with this wand, it won't be right, she won't be happy! You have to… you have to let her go!" This last word came out as a sob, and Ginny could probably barely see past her puffy eyes, but her grasp on him was firm, and her gaze insistent.

"Shut up Ginny! You're wrong, the Elder wand can do it! Do it, Harry.." Ron's voice dropped to a whisper. His tormented expression is what finally spurred Harry to act. As though he was moving in ice, he dragged his arm up, and pointed the Elder wand at Hermione's chest. Ginny was saying something, but Harry wasn't listening.

He didn't speak, or think an incantation. He had no idea what would work. But he could feel the power welling up regardless. See, magic is a funny thing, and wizards are strange creatures for trying to tame it. Magic is a primal, wild existence. It isn't quite self-aware, but it has a will. Wizards try to make magic's will their own, through organized things like wands, and enchanted objects, and fancy words. But magic existed before these things, and will exist after. And magic knows that the most powerful force in the world, is not magic, but love. And the love of Harry, and of Ron, and Ginny for Hermione, and indeed, for each other, and all of their friends was a great, powerful thing. So Harry didn't need to say anything for magic to know what he wanted. _Make it better._

But even magic powered by real love has to obey some rules. A soul that has moved on can never truly rejoin the world of the living. Magic knows this, and even if it can do a poor imitation sometimes, the real thing is never quite there- as Cadmus Peverell discovered to his doom. So, magic didn't want to even try on poor Hermione's body. But it also has to obey the intent of the wizard, and Harry's wand was pointed right at Hermione. The entire affair may still have ended in sorrow, had Ginny not intervened.

The power built up in the air, until it was apparent that _something_ had to happen. Ron looked caught between hope and fear, whereas Harry just seemed to be detached from the power he was summoning, and continued to stare at Hermione. Ginny was the only one who seemed aware of the imminent disaster.

"STOP HARRY! IT WON'T WORK" She screamed, trying to get through his daze, but he was unresponsive, whether because of the magic running through him or the shock, it was hard to say. He hadn't said a word since the killing curse had been cast.

When the magic seemed about to release, Ginny did the only thing she could think of- she pushed Harry's arm away from Hermione, directing the massive release of power away from her. The spell- if it could be called that- rushed joyfully from the Elder wand, shattering the fabled instrument into pieces at its release and causing Harry to fall hard on his back. The light was so bright that he could nearly see through his eyelids. He lay there for some time, winded from his fall and from the power that had just left him. But as soon as he could move, he propped himself up on one arm.

"Ginny? Ron?" He coughed out quietly. His throat was so dry he could barely speak. "Her…Hermione?"

His hopeful tone trailed off as his eyes once more found the body of Hermione, exactly where it had been before. Ginny was kneeling over him, stroking his hair, making calming noises.

"Harry, you did it. It'll be fine." She said, a small, knowing smile on her face.

"Wh-what? She's right there still! Why did you move my arm? Where's-" Harry's eyes, which finally began to yield tears, widened as he realized where his arm had moved. Of course, Ginny's last-ditch attempt to stop him had pushed his arm away from the corpse of his friend- right over to Ron's face. Harry scrambled to his feet, noticing everything was almost… vibrating. Literally, the ground seemed to be humming.

"Ron? Ron!" Harry's voice was weak, and he doubted anyone nearby could hear his voice, let alone Ron. Ginny moved beside him.

"He's gone." She said with a smile. Harry turned to her, too incredulous to even be angry.

"Why are you smiling?" He asked slowly, wondering if she knew something he didn't.

"I don't know." Her expression faltered briefly, then recovered. "You told magic what you wanted, right?" Harry nodded, uncertainly. 'Told' was strong. He really had just been in a shocked haze. But, he mused briefly, he supposed he had just been thinking, _make it better._

"Then magic did what it was supposed to. Ron's gone, and he's going to fix it. See?" Ginny gestured around them. Harry looked, and indeed _something_ was happening. A soft white light seemed to be emanating from somewhere, but he couldn't tell where. In fact, it was beginning to obscure everything in sight. It was good light, though. He just knew. It felt like Hogwarts, and his friends, and just _good._ It was getting brighter with every passing moment. He looked back at Ginny, still shocked, but somehow reassured. She came in close to him and hugged him, and he closed his eyes and put his arms around her, breathing the flowery scent he associated with her.

"Everything will be alright." Was the last thing he heard before the light grew too bright for his awareness to handle, and he knew no more.


End file.
